


wild at heart

by spacebuck



Series: Wild At Heart [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Bucky, Bucky's a little shit, Dating, Don't copy to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Modern!Bucky/Cap!Steve, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Shrunkyclunks, Soulmates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Zookeeper AU, cheetahs as matchmakers, steve is melodramatic and bi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 00:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19712794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebuck/pseuds/spacebuck
Summary: “So,” Bucky says over the sudden pounding of Steve’s heart. He’s shaking slightly, can feel the quiver in his fingertips, adrenaline, nerves, and maybe-“So,” Steve replies, and his voice is steadier than he expected. It seems to be what Bucky’s waiting for, because he lifts a hand, pauses.“Can I?”As if Steve would say no. He nods, sharp, eyes on Bucky’s face.Bucky’s finger’s brush his chest, and it’s like a live wire, sparking outwards, jolting. His grip tightens, and he realises his hands have ended up on Bucky’s hips, without conscious effort. Bucky, hissoulmate.“You,” Bucky says as if he hadn’t believed it, wonder in his eyes, a glint of something more. It takes Steve a moment to place it, and when he does it sends a shiver up his spine. Anticipation.--Steve's volunteering when he meets his soulmate, and the cheetahs Bucky's responsible for make pretty good matchmakers, too.





	wild at heart

**Author's Note:**

> i decided i needed to write this au when i went on a cheetah encounter myself and fell in love with our cats (the cats Bucky's are based off). then i had 3k and decided it should be a _soulmate_ au as well, so went back and changed it all.
> 
> Some bonus notes:  
> The bronx zoo used to have cheetahs, but after they passed they weren't replaced. 
> 
> This sort of cheetah encounter is rare in the US, possibly non-existent (I couldn't find any examples of it). However its how our encounters are, at our zoo, because our boys were hand raised and are very touch-friendly. You can read more about our encounter here: https://wellingtonzoo.com/experiences/close-encounters/cheetah
> 
> happy belated birthday to steve (and to me lmao)
> 
> big shout out to everyone on twitter who's been super supportive of this fic that was only supposed to be 5k long, and a SUPER big shout out to Talli, who has been indulging me like no one's business when it comes to this au.
> 
> this also fills my stucky bingo square for "soulmates" so it's wins all 'round.
> 
> unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own, etcetc
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Steve knew a lot about soulmates. His Ma – may she rest in peace – had always told him about them, about how he’d know when he met his.

 _You’ll look at her one day and feel this moment in your chest, this_ a-ha! _that you can’t ignore_ she’d always say. She’d always called them _True Loves_ – not everyone had soulmates, she’d say, but the Rogers’ had a history of True Loves showing up when they were least expected, so the odds of Steve having one? High. The odds of Steve finding them? Quickly dwindled once he enlisted. Add the serum, the deployment, and he was convinced it’d never happen.

He’d thought he’d had it, once. His head and his heart had agreed that she was _the one_ , but he’d never felt that feeling his Ma had described, had never known deep down that she was _it_.

So, at a hundred years old, he doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever find it. He goes on walks, just to see people, part of him knowing that the more people he sees, the more he can prove to himself that it wasn’t going to happen. If he’d had a soulmate, he’d have left them behind when he went into the ice.

Which means when Steve arrives for another set of volunteering, up in the Bronx Zoo, he’s not expecting it to hit him in the chest, to seep through his body and leave him breathless. He’s not expecting the _a-ha!_ of knowing, the way that his life suddenly feels like it’s led him to this moment.

There’s a man on his knees in the cheetah exhibit. Steve _should_ be worried, _should_ have been ready to jump in after him somehow, except for the fact that he’s too busy being struck dumb by what was happening, rocked back onto his proverbial heels at the realisation that his _soulmate_ is _there_. The cheetahs are approaching the man, and Steve can hear the way he’s clicking at them, calling to them. His voice is melodic, a note or two higher than normal by the waver in it, and as Steve watches the first cheetah, the bigger of the two, walks straight up to him and headbutts him in the chest.

“That doesn’t seem safe,” Steve comments, fishing for information, and the keeper he’s supposed to be paying attention to stops what she’s saying, looks over.

There’s a frown on her face that eases when she realises what he’s looking at. “Oh,” she says, “That’s Bucky.”

That doesn’t really say much, but Steve rolls the name over on his tongue, finds he likes the shape of it in his mouth.

The woman – Amy, if he remembers right – continues. “He’s not just their keeper, he hand-reared them. He is, as far as they know, their mom _and_ dad. They’re still big cats of course, still predators, but they’re generally lazy because they get fed, and he’s never been anything but good to them, so they don’t really have any reason to hurt him.”

Steve frowns at that, tucks his hands into his pockets. Amy must realise he’s not fully sold, because she adds, “They’re no more dangerous to him than a pet dog is to their owners, unless he does something really stupid.”

He’s still not sold, but he can’t help himself, shifts closer. Instead of asking what he wants to, he looks back at Amy, asks, “Why were they hand-reared?”

That seems to be enough to break the building tension, and she starts to explain cheetah conservation, how skittish they can be, and how their cheetahs had been rejected by their mother. Steve’s half listening, still watching the way the big cats rub all over the man in their enclosure, roll onto their backs and bat at him with massive paws, but she catches his full attention again when she says, “Do you want to meet them?”

Steve starts, hides it, says, “Meet who?” and ruins the pretence of him listening, but Amy just smiles and says,

“The boys – there’s an encounter this afternoon, I think there’s room if you wanted to join in?”

Steve can’t help how quickly he says, “Ye-yeah, that sounds like it’ll be fun.”

**

He does his best to focus on the work – it’s physical, mindless in its intensity, shovelling hay, then carrying equipment, then doing a meet and greet in the keeper lunch area. The problem is, it doesn’t stop his mind from returning to Bucky, to his _soulmate_.

By the time two thirty rolls around, Steve still hasn’t come to terms with it. His soulmate, the person who could be _the one_ , is just a few pens away, doing god knows what, probably unaware that Steve even exists.

So, when Steve makes it to the meeting area – early, of course, last time he was simply _on time_ for something the gawking had taken long enough to make them well behind schedule – he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He tucks his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, leans against the sign declaring it the meeting area for encounters, and wonders what the shit he’s supposed to do now.

For all his dithering, he hadn’t really thought about what he was going to _say_.

He hears a “Holy shit,” looks up, puts on his Captain America smile as a couple walks over, bright orange lanyards. “You’re-” one of them starts, and Steve cuts them off with a,

“Steve Rogers, hope you don’t mind me crashing your encounter,” in his Captain America voice.

They introduce themselves – Laura and Cassandra – and Steve mentally counts down, gets to three before Laura says, “Sorry, do you mind if I get a photo with you?”

He’s got a policy to never turn down polite requests when he’s not in a rush, and he _did_ crash _their_ encounter, so he agrees, is smiling at the camera when he feels a tickle up his spine, knows he’s being watched. He usually ignores it when he’s in public, is used to almost always being watched when he’s on the street, but this feels different, and as soon as the women have their photos he glances over his shoulder, and his breath catches in his throat.

Bucky’s walking towards them, and from the front he’s even more stunning, not that Steve was sure it was possible. There’s something in his eyes – slate grey but somehow still warm, Steve’s fingers itch to draw them – that’s surprised, then Bucky smiles and Steve’s brain stutters to a halt.

“Hi,” Bucky says, “I’m Bucky, I’m the head cheetah keeper and I’ll be taking your encounter today,” and Steve _gets it now_ , why the cheetahs look at him like he’s the most important thing to them. There’s something in his voice that draws Steve in, makes him want to lie on his back at Bucky’s feet, let him do anything he wants.

The women don’t look completely unaffected either, introduce themselves one after the other. When Bucky looks his way, Steve says – something, he’s not sure what, but by the way Bucky’s smile softens a little it’s not completely stupid. Yet.

“I’ll take you over to the enclosure – we have a separate encounter space right next to it, that’s where we’ll be. Once we get there I’ll introduce you to the other two keepers, run through some health and safety, then we’ll get started.”

Steve nods, bites his tongue so he doesn’t say something that gives away how infatuated he already is.

Bucky turns, leads the way across the park, and Steve’s rooted to the spot for a second, not sure where to look, wanting to look _everywhere_. He’d never thought anyone could pull off that particular shade of beige, but Bucky does, or at least, the way his pants cup his ass make Steve forget all about the colour. The way he walks makes it even more pronounced, a smooth, almost prowling gait that has people moving out of his way.

Steve blinks, shakes his head, thanks whoever’s listening that the others had just taken his dumbassery as an invitation to walk first, and tries not to keel over when Bucky pauses, glances back at them with a smile.

The other keepers, when they make it there, are thankfully quiet about Steve’s presence, and even more thankfully quiet about the expression Steve knows is on his face. He spends most of the introductory talk telling himself to listen, then getting stuck staring at Bucky’s mouth as he speaks and missing large chunks of the actual words. The tactical part of his brain keeps what it deems as the important bits – _no belly rubs_ and _no hands near mouth_ which in retrospect were kind of obvious, so, thanks brain.

Then they’re sitting, and Steve doesn’t remember the names of the other two keepers, but Bucky’s kneeling to his left and that’s all that he can think about. He wants to reach out, to touch, knows that would be creepy as fuck, so he keeps his hands in his lap, nods where appropriate, tries not to look like his brain has vacated his head and is pooling somewhere near his feet. Then Bucky stands, and he uses Steve’s knee to do it. The contact shakes Steve out of his head, drags him back into reality, and he can’t help but notice the way Bucky squeezes his knee a little on his way up. Steve’s pretty sure his heart stops, or at least, stutters its way through the contact in a way that leaves him breathless.

Then he’s sauntering – and there’s no other word for it, really – over to the gate between the two enclosures, opening it, and clicking his tongue.

When nothing happens, he sighs, and Steve tips his head as Bucky steps forward, crosses over into the other enclosure, and whistles.

There’s a clatter that’s just at the edge of Steve’s hearing range, the quiet thud of paws, then Bucky’s stepping back as one of the big cats decides to walk in. The other meanders in a minute later, and Bucky closes the gate, petting the both of them before walking back to Steve – to their group.

They’re beautiful, really. Steve is immediately struck by their grace, right up until the bigger of the two cats flops down at their feet, lifts his head, and gives Steve the most imperious look as if to say, _I’ve done my part, your turn_. Steve bites back a laugh, reaches forward to do just that as Bucky drops back to his knees, a little closer than before.

“This is Kunjuka,” Bucky says, eyes on Steve as the cheetah starts up a rumbling purr. His voice is quiet, pitched to Steve as the other two keepers talk to the two women that, if Steve’s honest, he forgot were there. Steve rubs his fingers in the fur between the cat’s ears, then strokes up the edge of one ear. The fur is surprisingly soft, denser than he expected, and he strokes down the cat’s neck, scratches between his shoulders. “He’s the more sociable of the two, a real cuddler.”

The other cat is almost sitting in Bucky’s lap, flopped down onto his back with his head against Bucky’s knee. Steve has an irrational _god I wish that was me_ moment before he swallows, says, “Amy mentioned you raised them?” His voice doesn’t crack, so he counts it as a win even though it’s a little hoarser than he expected, a little lower.

Bucky lights up – there’s no other word for it, the way his smile overtakes his face, crinkles his eyes, and – _god_ he has dimples. Steve’s breath catches, but he pushes past it, bites his lip in the hopes that the sting will help him focus. It doesn’t really.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, squishing the cheeks of the cheetah in his lap. “They were rejected by their mother. They were originally going to be sent here once they hit about six months, but when they told me what happened I flew down and got them straight away. Raised ‘em in my apartment ‘til they were big enough to be put in their enclosure.”

Steve’s certain that whoever goes about assigning soulmates gave him the best one – but also possibly had it out for him because if Bucky said anything else in that same earnest tone Steve might keel over.

“You must have a lot of things with teeth holes in them then,” Steve says, and thank _god_ his mouth is still working even while his brain is on a soulmate-induced holiday.

Bucky laughs, and it makes the cheetah in his lap chirp, roll onto his back and slide off Bucky’s legs into the dirt. “You have no idea,” Bucky says, automatically reaching down as the cheetah chirps again, disgruntled, scratching under his chin. “I sacrificed two jackets to Canjo,” he continues, pinching the fluff of the cheetah’s cheek and squishing it. “’Juka likes shoes more.”

“Likes?” Steve says, squinting a little at the present tense, until Bucky shifts, brings up a foot, and shows the teeth marks in the side of his boot.

“Still does,” Bucky says, quiet like it’s a secret, then folds his leg back down so he’s kneeling again and holds out his hand to Steve. Before Steve can even start to work out why, Bucky’s saying, “Did you want me to grab some photos for you?” and Steve blinks, then fumbles for his phone. He unlocks it, opens the camera app and hands it over, then looks down at the cheetah who’s using his feet as a pillow. He reaches down, can’t help himself, catches Kunjuka’s ear between two fingers and strokes up. The cheetah blinks open one eye and purrs a little louder.

Bucky shifts, focuses past Steve and speaks up to answer a question Steve hadn’t even heard, still taking photos on Steve’s phone as he does, of both the big cats. Steve resigns himself to at least attempting to act like he’s a normal human being and he mostly succeeds, he thinks.

Right up until Bucky looks at him and goes very still, eyes wide. Steve tenses, fingers flexing, craving the reassuring weight of vibranium. “Hold still,” Bucky says, voice quiet, and Steve’s about to ask why when he feels something wet, sandpaper rough, drag up his cheek.

Steve manages to hold still out of sheer willpower, shoving down the external startle until he can let out a breath and say, “Uh, Buck?”

Bucky puts a finger to his own lips in silent command, then lifts Steve’s phone, points the camera right at Steve just as it happens again, a loud purr starting up right next to his ear. “I think he likes you,” Bucky says, soft, and Canjo – it has to be Canjo, Kujuka hasn’t budged from his spot in front of them – licks him again, rubs his cheek right up against Steve’s.

The log they’re on shifts, shudders a little, and the heavy weight of what can only be a very friendly cheetah thuds against his side like the cat’s attempting to flop himself on top of Steve. “I’m guessing he doesn’t do this often?” Steve says, and Bucky sets the phone down, inches closer until he can get a hand up, must have put it somewhere on Canjo with the way it moves out of Steve’s peripheral vision.

“Never,” Bucky confirms, clicking at Canjo until the cat lies down, half on one of Steve’s legs, and licks his thigh through his jeans. “Not even with the other keepers” He sounds a little stunned, and Steve tips his head, looks first at Bucky, then at the cat in his own lap, and lifts his hand.

At Bucky’s nod, he strokes his fingers over the top of Canjo’s head, smiles as the cat licks his fingers even as Bucky tenses beside him.

Despite Bucky’s best efforts, Canjo stays where he is for the rest of the encounter, so Bucky stays close, not penning the cat in but close enough to grab him, not that Steve was sure what that’d accomplish.

When Bucky does stand though, both of the cats are up like they’d been prodded, rubbing against Bucky’s legs like big – well – cats. “They know they get treats after an encounter,” Bucky says to the three of them, “I’ll be back in a mo’.”

Then he turns, almost tripping over a cat on his way, but he gets the gate open and Steve watches until he can’t see any of them before looking at the other keepers to find four sets of eyes on him.

“What did it feel like?” Cassandra asks, and Steve blinks, has to work out _what_ she’s asking about before smiling and saying,

“Like sandpaper, but wet.”

She pulls a face and he smiles wider, wiping his cheek with a hand where it’s still kind of damp. “Yeah,” he says, “pretty much.”

“I guess,” she starts, then elbows her – friend? Partner? – and finishes, “I guess we can forgive you for taking all the cute keeper’s attention,” and Steve can’t help it, flushes a little as he laughs.

He’s not the only one laughing – one of the other keepers says, “Hey, that’s not fair!” and it sets the five of them off. That’s when Bucky comes back, and Steve can’t help the way his eyes snap to Bucky, can’t help the way he stares as Bucky looks at them for a second, then shakes his head, looking betrayed.

“Alright,” Bucky says, sniffing in a way that’s probably supposed to be haughty, but all Steve can think is _god he’s adorable_ , “Keep your secrets.”

The other keepers stand, so Steve takes his cue, following Bucky out as everyone else falls into step.

They stop in the middle, between the two gates, and one of the other keepers hands a bottle of hand sanitizer down the line of them. Steve’s pretty sure that nothing on the cheetahs would harm him, but Bucky says, “So your hands don’t smell,” when Steve hesitates, so he does as he’s told and hands the bottle to Bucky.

They get herded out, and as they separate Steve lingers, hands shoved in his pockets. He doesn’t know what to say, opens his mouth anyway, but Bucky beats him to it, touches Steve’s elbow lightly. “Hey,” he says, and Steve’s eyes snap to him. It’s easy, so easy to just fall into him, to linger on the edge of his jaw, the corner of his mouth and the way that tips up first, the smile spreading lopsided across his face.

Bucky continues like Steve’s responded, like he’s being a normal person and not staring like a magpie who’s found something shiny – Bucky _is_ shiny, his brain supplies, soft and glowing like Steve’s own personal star. He stares some more, and Bucky smiles as he speaks. “Did you want to come back to the keeper’s quarters, so I can grab that video of Canjo?” There’s something in his eye that tells Steve this is just a ruse, but he keeps himself to himself just in case, hands that want to touch staying firmly in his pockets.

“Yeah,” he says, nods as if that wasn’t enough. “Lead the way.”

Bucky’s smile grows, and his fingers hook on Steve’s elbow again, tugging as he starts to walk. He follows, falls into step, does his best not to stare too much and knows he fails.

“So,” Bucky says before Steve can work anything past the tight clench of his throat. “What do you do?”

Steve’s eyebrows go up, and before he can say anything Bucky’s bumping his shoulder against his, the contact sparking something in the back of Steve’s mind.

“I want to hear it from you, asshole,” Bucky says, and he doesn’t even do the double take thing where he realises he swore at _Captain America_ and apologises. Steve’s pretty sure he’s in love.

“I,” he says, stops. Realises there’s no way to succinctly say what he does for a job without sounding stuck up. So he looks somewhere in the vicinity of Bucky’s collarbone and says, “I draw, sometimes.”

Bucky glances up, and there’s a soft frown on his face that slowly, slowly morphs into a smile. “I’d love to see it sometime,” he says as if Steve’s sketches from the war hadn’t ended up in a museum for all to see. “If you want.”

The further away from people they get, the more Steve’s hands itch, the more he wants to reach out, catch the lock of hair that’s freed itself from Bucky’s braid. The more he wants to touch, see if Bucky’s skin is as soft as it looks. Bucky leads him past a gate that says _no entry_ on it, up a path that slowly gets narrower, and Steve drops behind him. There’s trees lining the edge of the path, nothing he’s ever seen before – at least, not in this way, blanketing the area in green.

It’s stunning, and he can’t help himself, pulls out his phone to snap a photo. If Bucky’s in it, paused a few feet away, glancing back over his shoulder, then that’s just a perk. He jogs the few steps to catch up just as they turn a corner, and suddenly there’s a house in front of them, having been completely hidden by the greenery.

“This is one of the keeper houses,” Bucky says as he heads up the steps, pulls his keyring out and unlocks the door. “We don’t have standard offices because we’re almost always out on the grounds, but we take lunches here, and there’s a few computers set up for us.”

Steve nods, at a loss for what to say, follows him in and nearly walks into Bucky. Bucky’s turned to face him, reaches past to nudge the door closed at Steve’s back, and they’re close, so close that Steve can see the fleck of freckles over the bridge of Bucky’s nose.

“So,” Bucky says over the sudden pounding of Steve’s heart. He’s shaking slightly, can feel the quiver in his fingertips, adrenaline, nerves, and maybe-

“So,” Steve replies, and his voice is steadier than he expected. It seems to be what Bucky’s waiting for, because he lifts a hand, pauses.

“Can I?”

As if Steve would say no. He nods, sharp, eyes on Bucky’s face.

Bucky’s finger’s brush his chest, and it’s like a live wire, sparking outwards, jolting. His grip tightens, and he realises his hands have ended up on Bucky’s hips, without conscious effort. Bucky, his _soulmate_.

“You,” Bucky says as if he hadn’t believed it, wonder in his eyes, a glint of something more. It takes Steve a moment to place it, and when he does it sends a shiver up his spine. Anticipation.

“Me,” Steve replies and rubs his thumbs over the sharp edges of Bucky’s hips. He knows what he wants to do, but he holds back. He knows how things went in the forties when soulmates found each other, but here and now he’s lost, doesn’t want to put his foot in it and cock it up. His mouth doesn’t get the message though, and he’s saying, “Can I kiss you?” before he can stop himself.

Bucky tips his chin up a little, and without hesitation says, “If you don’t, I’ll-”

Steve doesn’t hear what he’ll do, because he’s too busy dropping his head, catching Bucky’s lips with his own.

And it’s – it’s nothing he’s experienced before. The kiss is soft, testing the waters, but Bucky gasps into it like it’s shocked him, and maybe it has because it’s shot through Steve like liquid fire, burned him up from the inside, leaving only Bucky. Bucky’s hands cup his cheeks, and Steve’s arms end up around his waist, just _holding_ and when Steve pulls back he stays close, nose brushing Bucky’s.

“I found you,” he murmurs, reverent, and for a second Bucky looks like his heart is breaking. It sends a flash of panic through Steve, but Bucky pulls him down the scant inches between them and brushes another soft kiss over his mouth.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” he says, and _oh_. “I’m sorry you had to go through so much to get to me.”

There’s nothing Steve can say to that except Bucky’s name, and he does, kisses him again just because he can. And then- “It was worth it. Already, just knowing you’re here.”

Bucky’s thumbs drag up along Steve’s cheekbones, and he says, “I want to get to know you, Steve Rogers.” There’s a lot he’s not saying, it’s in the weight of the words, but Steve chooses to take them at face value.

“I want that too,” he says, before realising he doesn’t even know Bucky’s full name. Bucky seems to realise what he’s thinking, or he’s taken the pause for hesitation because he says,

“James Barnes, Bucky comes from the middle name.” He pauses, then says, “I do really want to get that video, but… I could get your number too? And we can try this getting-to-know-each-other thing when I’m not on the clock?”

And – shit, Steve’s completely forgotten that Bucky’s at work, and he unwraps his arms, squeezes Bucky’s hips as the man steps back. “Yeah- yeah, that sounds good. I have to warn you though,” he adds because he feels he has to, can’t have Bucky thinking the worst if something happens and Steve’s needed. “Sometimes I get called out with no notice, sometimes I have to go dark, sometimes for a while.”

“Sometimes the world needs saving,” Bucky says, and there’s still a smile on his face. He catches Steve’s hand, tugs him away from the – shit, they barely made it in the door, through a kitchen to what probably used to be a living room, now has a few desks in it, a set of small cages stacked against one wall. “I won’t hold it against you,” Bucky’s saying as he makes his way to the back desk, digs in a drawer and pulls out a cable before realising what Steve’s looking at.

“Sometimes we get animals that can’t be left alone, or we get stuck with a shitty feeding schedule if we have to hand-rear. Not everything will sit nicely on our desks, so they get crated with some stuff to keep them occupied between feedings or checks.”

Steve nods, holds out his phone when Bucky holds out his hand. He leans against the desk, watching Bucky as he plugs the phone in, goes clicking through folders until a set of images come up on the screen. “Does that happen often?” Steve asks, and Bucky shrugs, clicking a few times before straightening and crossing the few steps to Steve.

“More often than you’d think, but not _often_ ,” he says, reaching out and picking something off Steve’s shirt, brushing his fingers over the spot after. Steve watches, waiting, as Bucky rocks up onto his toes, and his hand sends little sparks scattering over Steve’s skin as it drags up the back of his neck. He pulls, and Steve goes easily, dropping down as Bucky pushes up.

Bucky skips right past soft, his tongue sweeping past Steve’s lips, and Steve can’t help but let him. He grips Bucky’s waist, giving as good as he gets, then Bucky pulls back abruptly, a little ding from the computer sounding. He’s breathing harder than maybe he should be, and Bucky’s mouth is spit slick, enough to draw Steve’s eyes over and over.

Those lips quirk up, and Bucky makes a throaty little sound, almost a laugh. “You,” he starts, stops, but it’s fond, has Steve smiling. “You’re so-” Bucky doesn’t seem to know how to finish the sentence, instead leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Steve’s chin. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is, Steve thinks.

“Can I take you to dinner?” Steve says, and Bucky pulls back enough to look at him properly.

He’s almost hesitant when he says, “I can’t tonight, I have a standing dinner with my parents every Tuesday,” and he truly looks put out. Steve brings his hands up, rubs his thumbs over Bucky’s cheekbones. “I can do Friday?” he says before Steve can speak, and there’s no way Steve can say no.

He nods, and says, “Any preferences? I’ll find us somewhere, text you?” Bucky’s eyebrows go up, but he’s smiling, so Steve takes a step forward, crowding Bucky backwards against the desk.

Bucky goes willingly, pushes up until he’s sitting on the desk, and it means Steve has to stoop lower to kiss him, but he can’t say he minds. “Smooth,” Bucky says against his mouth, gets one arm around Steve’s waist. “The transfer should be done-”

The front door clicks open, and Bucky stiffens up in his arms, eyes going wide like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A familiar voice carries down the short hallway, and before Steve can even consider moving, Amy’s sticking her head in.

“There you ar-oh. _Oh_.” She quickly pulls back, and Steve can feel his cheeks heat. Bucky hasn’t moved, hasn’t let go, so Steve kisses the top of his head, says,

“It’s not what- you can come back,” and Bucky makes a noise, something akin to a dying seal.

“It’s exactly what I think,” Amy says, but she steps through the door, stays well on the other side of the room. Bucky finally lets go, nudges Steve back with a hand, and slides off the desk, pointedly not looking over at his co-worker. “I was coming to ask you if there’s anything else you wanted to do before we closed, but it looks like I got replaced,” she explains, a teasing lilt to her voice.

There’s a click, then Bucky’s pushing Steve’s phone into his hand, warm fingers curling around Steve’s wrist. “We’re going,” he says loudly, and Amy looks like she’s trying not to laugh. Bucky’s pulling him, then, and Steve’s not about to resist, lets Bucky drag him out of the small office.

“Thanks for all your help today,” Steve says as they pass the other keeper, “Thanks for- everything.”

Amy just grins, waves as the door swings shut behind them.

**

They meet up for dinner. It's awkward at first, but Bucky has him laughing before long, nerves melting away in the face of Bucky’s—everything.

They move from the restaurant to the nearby park, not willing to let the evening end. By the time they wind up on the doorstep of Bucky’s building it’s just gone one in the morning and Bucky’s yawning. Still, they linger, Bucky’s hand in his like it has been since they left the restaurant.

He steps in, and Steve holds himself still even though he aches to be closer, and the soft kiss has him sighing, leaning into Bucky’s touch. Steve’s not sure who does it, but the kiss starts to deepen, and before he gives in to the urge to push Bucky up against the front door he breaks away, breathing heavier than he’d like to admit.

Steve brushes his thumbs over the line of Bucky’s jaw, up to his cheekbones, and Bucky’s looking at him with the softest expression on his face, one that has his heart stuttering in his chest. Before he can say anything, Steve’s leaning down, brushing a kiss over the corner of his mouth, smiling as it curls under the pressure.

“Goodnight Bucky,” he murmurs and steps back. Bucky stares at him for a second then echoes the words, and Steve shoves his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out. If he touches Bucky again, he knows it’s all over, and as much as he wants to get his hands all over every bit of Bucky he’s allowed, he wants the anticipation to build a little. Wants to want Bucky with every part of him, not just his instincts crying that Bucky’s the One.

He wants Bucky to feel wined and dined before Steve takes him apart.

**

They’re at the zoo again. Not for a date, Steve would never take Bucky to his workplace on a _date_ , but because Bucky had insisted, smiled and said, “It’ll be fun, promise.”

Bucky’s taken him around the back of the cheetah enclosure, to what Bucky fondly calls the nest, and he unlocks the heavy door with a glance over at Steve. “There’s a chance,” he says,” that they’ll be too lazy to come in. But they usually come back and see me.”

Steve smiles at his nerves, draws him in. Date four had been earlier that week, and he feels comfortable enough to press a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head, then another to his temple when Bucky looks up. “It’ll be fine,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

Bucky takes a breath, nods, pushes open the door before leading the way inside.

Steve’s not sure what he expected, but the hallway is clean, mostly bare. There’s a couple of boxes on one side, near a door, and four doors leading off it. Bucky locks up behind them, then leads the way down, stopping at the third door, one of three on the left. “Stay by the door,” he says, and Steve nods immediately. He’s not about to argue. This is Bucky’s job, he knows best, and Steve’s not stubborn enough to admit that Bucky is absolutely the one who should be in charge right now.

Another set of keys, and Bucky’s slipping through, pausing with one foot still in the hall before glancing back and nodding. The new room, when Steve follows, is more like what he expected, he realises. There’s hay strewn about like it’s been pulled out of a sleeping area, a large ball and a couple of toys he can’t immediately place. There are two passageways leading off, one on each side, and Bucky catches his glance at them, smiles and says, “Bedrooms.”

The wall immediately opposite them has a big grate in it, currently open, with a tunnel leading towards the enclosure. Bucky whistles once, keeps himself between Steve and that tunnel, and Steve has a mostly-irrational spike of fear. That’s almost faded, his fingers resting on Bucky’s back, when the first cat appears down the tunnel.

It takes Steve a second but he places Kunjuka, the wide-set eyes and splotch of black over one corner of his mouth giving the cat away. He makes a small sound, a _meep_ , then comes trotting over to Bucky, headbutting his legs. Bucky drops himself to one knee slowly, and the big cat rubs his face over Bucky’s cheek, greeting, as Bucky scratches one hand through his ruff.

Bucky glances up at Steve, smiles, then reaches up. He curls his fingers at Steve’s belt, tugs down lightly, so Steve follows him to his knees. “Wait for him to come to you,” Bucky says, and Steve sits back on his haunches as there’s a rattle in the tunnel.

“Hey, ‘Juka,” Steve says, quiet, and hears Bucky’s breath catch.

When he glances away from the cat Bucky’s staring at him, and just as the cat bumps his head against Steve’s fingers, Bucky says, “You can tell them apart?”

Steve blinks, surprised, and gently, gently scratches his fingers over the top of Kunjuka’s head. “He’s got a broader face,” he says quietly. “And this spot, here, on his cheek. Canjo’s got a yellow patch here, more black around his eyes.”

Bucky stares at him long enough that Steve starts to wonder if he’s wrong, then Canjo’s purr approaches from the other side of the room and Bucky’s eyes go back to the big cat walking over. He scratches Canjo’s cheeks, laughs when Canjo tries to lick his fingers, then strokes his thumb over the black blob above his eye. “No one’s ever been able to tell this quickly,” Bucky says after a second. “Not without using their tail tips at least.”

The words warm him, and Steve smiles, tucks his chin to his chest and scratches the purring Kunjuka who’s looking rather put out at the lack of attention. The cats swap, Kunjuka sidling out from under Steve’s hand to return to Bucky, nose at his pockets, and Canjo takes the two steps to Steve’s side and sniffs him once before licking his face.

“Shit,” Steve startles, almost falling on his ass, but Canjo pushes forward, rubs his cheek against Steve’s before nosing at his shirt. “Smell something you like?” he teases quietly, and when he glances back up at Bucky his soulmate is smiling, warm and full of something Steve thinks he has a name for but isn’t quite sure yet.

**

For their sixth date, Bucky suggests something different. When Steve knocks on his apartment door, he’s not dressed to go out; or at least, not go further than the bodega down the street for a snack run. When Bucky answers, he’s the same, trackpants so lived in that some of the fibres are fraying along an outer seam, a soft looking t-shirt that almost looks like Bucky’s slept in it. Which is kind of the point.

“You know,” Bucky says after he’s looked Steve up and down. “When I said _wear pyjamas,_ I sort of expected something less…. Gym-bro-ish.” He’s grinning though, so Steve steps in close, wraps an arm around his waist and stops the flow of sass by putting his tongue in the way.

Bucky clings to him, hands grabbing onto Steve’s upper arms and hanging on tight. Steve uses what leverage he has to walk them into Bucky’s apartment, breaks the kiss as he nudges the door shut with his heel. The thrill of seeing Bucky again, of seeing his _soulmate_ again, is humming through him, and he takes one look at Bucky’s parted lips, blushed red from the pressure of his mouth, and he’s leaning forward again, kissing him hard.

He’s so sweet, melts into Steve’s arms, and Steve can’t stop touching him, can’t stop _wanting_ to touch him. He slides his hand up Bucky’s side, curls it in the fabric of his shirt. It’s soft, just like he’d expected, worn thin enough in places that Steve can feel his warmth through the fabric, and he smiles against Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky pulls back at that, slides his hand over Steve’s at his waist, pulls it off and up. He kisses Steve’s palm, and his smile is a little wicked even as he says, “The food’s nearly ready, c’mon.”

Steve realises at that moment that he loves him.

It hits him out of nowhere, really. It’s not that he’s surprised, as soon as he’d met Bucky he’d known that it wouldn’t take long. He’s everything Steve ever wanted, and that’s before taking into account the fact that they’re soulmates. He’s stunned into silence at the strength of the feeling, the way that he just _knows_ deep in his gut that Bucky’s the one he wants. Not just a soulmate, not just the possibility of happiness, but the real, living, breathing person he loves.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, and he realises he’s staring in silence, so he stumbles forward a step, shakes his head a little. “Shit,” he says, and there’s something funny in his voice that he can’t hide. “Sorry. Lead the way.” Bucky still looks concerned, so Steve closes the distance between them and kisses the corner of his mouth. The frown on Bucky’s face eases, and he keeps hold of Steve’s hand as he leads the way through his apartment to the kitchen.

“How’d your trip go?” Bucky asks as they walk, and Steve shakes his head again, a little sharper. There’s no real answer to that, so he just says,

“It went.” He shrugs, steps in when Bucky stops in front of the little table he’s got crammed into the corner of his kitchen. He slides an arm around Bucky’s waist, kisses the back of his neck as Bucky turns his head, then sneaks up to press a kiss to his mouth before he can say anything. “It’s fine,” he murmurs, “I just don’t want to talk about work. How are the boys?”

Bucky’s face lights up, and Steve sits when he’s pushed towards a stool, props his elbow on the benchtop and rests his cheek in his hand as Bucky crosses to the fridge, pulling things out. “They’re good! We thought Canjo was sick for a bit but turns out he’s just horny,” he says with a snort, and Steve reaches up to take one of the dishes as he approaches, smiles when he sees what’s on it.

“Is that normal for his age?” Steve asks, not willing to admit the spike of fear that had run through him when Bucky had first started speaking. He steals a pinch from the pile of grated cheese, can’t get it in his mouth fast enough and Bucky catches him when he turns around. He gets it in his mouth, but Bucky’s growling at him, a playful glint in his eyes, lightly slapping at his hand before he takes the cheese pile and puts it out of Steve’s reach.

Bucky says, “You’re as bad as the cats are,” and Steve is pretty sure that’s a compliment rather than an insult, so he just leans over as soon as Bucky drifts close enough, presses a kiss to his cheek. “If you eat it now there’ll be nothing left to use,” he adds, but slides Steve a plate of cut pepperoni instead. Then he’s gone, across the kitchen, and a minute later there’s flour flying, and Steve ducks instinctively, heart skipping a beat for all the wrong reasons.

Something must show on his face, because then Bucky’s there, cupping his cheeks and murmuring, “sorry, I didn’t think.”

Steve takes a slow breath, then another. Leans into the warmth of Bucky’s hands and whispers, “It's okay, I’m fine.” Bucky doesn’t look like he believes him but doesn’t press, just kisses his nose and heads back to the fridge.

His shoulder brushes Steve’s on his way back, then two lumps of dough plop onto the flour-covered counter. Bucky takes Steve’s hand, squeezes it, then says, “Put those muscles to work and pound this,” and the laugh that bursts out of Steve is loud and ugly.

“Show me how,” he says eventually, once he’s somewhat in control of himself again. Bucky looks startled, and his eyebrows go up. It takes Steve a minute to realise what he’s thinking, and he laughs again, shakes his head. “How to knead the dough, you asshole,” he says, and Bucky throws a handful of flour at him.

He sees it coming this time, manages to get a hand in front of his eyes before it hits him with a soft thump. When he looks down, his whole torso is dusted in white and knows the majority of it would have ended up on his hair. He narrows his eyes and lunges at Bucky, sending them both tumbling as Bucky squawks, though he turns so he’s the one hitting the floor in the tiny kitchen.

As soon as they’re on the ground Steve rolls them, shoulder hitting the cabinet as he braces himself over Bucky. He shakes his head sharply, sending the flour sitting on his skin and in his hair raining down on the other man, grins as Bucky swears.

“What,” Steve says, “Can’t take it?”

“Oh I can take it,” Bucky says, and there’s something in his tone that makes Steve fall still, watching, waiting Bucky out. “Enjoy it, even,” Bucky adds, hands on Steve’s shoulders sliding up into Steve’s hair. “I can give you a demonstration if you like?”

Steve can’t hold himself back. Drops his head and kisses the wicked little curl of Bucky’s mouth, sucks on his lower lip before pushing his way in. Bucky lets him, which is a wonder in and of itself, Bucky parts his lips and the noise he makes settles low in Steve’s spine, makes him _want_.

He pulls back to take a breath after a few moments, and Bucky slips a hand between their mouths, but he’s grinning so Steve isn’t worried he overstepped. “As much as I’d like to follow through now, the floor is cold and we both need to eat.”

Steve huffs out a noise, deflating a little as he tries to redirect his attention from Bucky’s wet mouth, the way he’d breathed out the invitation like he knew exactly how to play Steve like a drum. He kisses Bucky’s fingers, pushes himself up onto his knees, then his feet. Holds out his hands for Bucky to pull him up as well.

Once they’re both upright, Steve brushes specks of flour off Bucky’s chin. “Show me how to turn this into pizza?”

Bucky grins.

**

They end up curled up on the couch. There’s a movie running in the background, sound turned low and subtitles on. Steve couldn’t describe it even if his life depended on it, he’s too focused on having Bucky close. Bucky’s just trailed off, a smile on his lips as he looks up at Steve, and the words come out before he even thinks about it. He can’t keep it to himself.

“All relationships are work,” he says, then pauses, licking his lips. He’s struggling to put it into words, knows he needs to, needs Bucky to hear it almost as much as Bucky looks like he needs to hear it. It catches Bucky’s attention immediately, he straightens just a little, leans a little more against Steve’s shoulder. “But, you know the saying, ‘ _if you do something you love, you’ll never work a day in your life_ ’?”

Bucky’s hand tightens in his, and his smile is small, sweet even as he says, “You saying you want to do me for the rest of your life, Rogers?”

Steve can’t help but laugh, pull Bucky closer until he’s almost in his lap. It’s so like Bucky, so completely and utterly _Bucky_ to miss the meaning of what he’s saying just to find the joke in it, and he can’t help it, it just spills out of him, on a laugh, “ _God_ , I love you.” Bucky goes very still next to him, and Steve looks up from their joined hands.

There’s something on Bucky’s face that Steve’s never seen before, a mix of wonder and a love so bright it’s almost blinding.

“I love you,” Steve says again because now that he’s said it, he never wants to hold it back. It’s quick, even for soulmates, two months since they’d first met, but Steve’s never been so sure of something in his life. “You’re the kindest, most beautiful person I’ve ever met, and I love you,” he says, then he’s got a lapful of Bucky, he’s got a hand in his hair and a mouth on his, and he feels _whole_ , like he’s got something back that he’d never realised he was missing.

Bucky kisses him hard and Steve falls into it, slides his free hand up Bucky’s thigh to hold his waist, then around him to pull him in tight. Bucky brings their joined hands between them, squeezes, and breaks the kiss to whisper, “I love you right back, you dumbass.”

There’s not enough room in Steve’s chest to feel indignant, and Bucky smiles against his lips when all Steve does is kiss him again, a little harder, a little more desperate.

Steve drags his hand up from Bucky’s waist, cups his jaw, strokes his thumb along the ridge of it as he drags it out, gives Bucky everything he’s got. Bucky’s making soft noises into his mouth, needy, and Steve groans, soft. Bucky’s hand untangles from Steve’s, clutches at his shirt, and Steve takes the opportunity to get his own hand on the small of Bucky’s back, to nudge him closer.

Bucky’s teeth catch on his lip, and when Bucky pulls his head back Steve can’t stop the noise he makes, kind of pathetic, definitely needy. Bucky’s hips hitch forward a little, and their sweatpants don’t do much to hide the way they’re both reacting. “Is this okay?” Bucky asks, and he’s breathless already, pupils spreading out and hiding the grey in his eyes.

He’s beautiful, and Steve’s left silent, staring up at him, nodding slowly. He strokes his thumb over Bucky’s cheek, fumbles for the words, has to close his eyes to assemble a sentence that only has a chance of making sense. “I want this, you. I didn’t want you to think this was all I wanted from this. All I wanted from _you_.”

Bucky’s thumb rubs little circles against his chest, and Steve opens his eyes when he feels lips on his. It’s a soft kiss, sweet, unlike the others before them. “You’re the kind of guy to go all in, aren’t you?” Bucky murmurs, and there’s a fond little uptick to his lips. Steve wants to kiss him. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I know you’re one of the good ones.”

Steve smiles, gives in and presses their mouths together again, presses his thumb against Bucky’s lower lip, nudges until Bucky opens his mouth with a surprised little noise. He sweeps his tongue in, and Bucky’s on the same page quickly, knees going tight against Steve’s hips before splaying wide so he can get closer. Steve can’t help himself, gets a hand on Bucky’s ass, squeezes as Bucky gasps into his mouth. He’s so responsive, so sweet, and Steve wants to take him apart, wants to make him forget anything but them, wants to give him absolutely everything.

A warm hand gets shoved into the neck of his shirt, stretching the collar out, but Steve’s not about to complain when Bucky’s hands are on his skin, grabbing onto the back of his shoulder and pulling himself forward. Their hips grind together, and Steve decides at that moment to dedicate every waking moment to having Bucky against him like this. It happens again, and Steve realises there’s one thing that could make it better.

He curls his hands at the hem of Bucky’s shirt, starts to pull, and Bucky gets on board quickly. He hauls the fabric over his head, is pulling at Steve’s shirt almost immediately, but Steve’s more focused on all the skin bared to him for the first time. He drops his head, leaves wet kisses down the arch of Bucky’s throat, over the curve of his shoulder. He has to hunch himself forward to go lower but it’s worth it, the warmth of Bucky’s skin against his lips, the way Bucky’s breath shakes out of him, the way his hands fumble at Steve’s waist, hang on tight.

He kisses his way down over Bucky’s pec, open, wet kisses that leave him squirming in Steve’s lap. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he mumbles into Bucky’s skin before he drags his tongue over one flat nipple.

It gets the reaction he wants, Bucky’s whole body jerking in his hold, his fingers digging points into Steve’s waist. “Yes,” Bucky gasps before Steve can check in, and he grabs the back of Steve’s head, holds him right where he is. Steve takes the hint and does it again, the blows a stream of air over the rising nub, sending shivers over Bucky’s skin.

He sucks lightly, then firm when Bucky tugs at his hair, trails sideways to dig his teeth into Bucky’s pec, to leave a mark on him. Bucky jumps again, then he’s tugging at Steve’s shirt, pulling it up until it’s bunched under Steve’s armpits, and it’s annoying enough that he pulls back reluctantly, just long enough to toss it to the side.

Bucky drags him back into a kiss and his hands end up on Steve’s chest, warm and teasing as they rub over Steve’s pecs just hard enough to tease. Steve gets a hand down the back of Bucky’s sweats, grins into Bucky’s mouth when he realises that there’s nothing else there, digs his fingers in just to make Bucky gasp.

“Have something in mind tonight?” he asks, surprised at his voice. It’s low, rumbling, and if it were anyone else Steve might be embarrassed by how much it gives away. But it’s Bucky, and Steve wants him to know exactly what he’s doing to him.

Bucky laughs, breathless, and he says, “How’d you guess?”

Steve can’t help but laugh, quiet, before he leans in and kisses Bucky again, pulls Bucky’s hips in with his grip on Bucky’s ass. Bucky’s whimper is muted by the kiss, but it still makes Steve’s breath hitch, the absolute _need_ in that noise driving him crazy. He breaks the kiss, sucks on Bucky’s lower lip before he speaks. “Tell me what you want,” he says. Bucky surprises him with his answer, even though Steve really should have known better.

“I want your cock in my mouth,” he says, and Steve can’t help the noise he makes. “I want you to fuck me,” he keeps talking, eyes a little glazed. “I want everything.”

Steve can’t say no to that.

He hitches Bucky’s hips forward a little more, until they’re pressed flush, then has to take a second to control himself, to not just toss Bucky onto the couch and have his way with him. Then he says, “Hold on,” and it rumbles low in his chest. Bucky does, then gasps as he realises what’s coming, presses himself right up against Steve’s chest, and Steve pushes to his feet, Bucky secure in his arms.

He’s not heavy, not much is anymore, but he’s solid, warm, and Steve drops his head to kiss at Bucky’s jaw while he reorients himself. The slide of Bucky’s skin against his is distracting at best, and he’s got to take a few slow breaths, calm the churning in his gut.

Bucky makes a little noise as he’s lifted, fingers clutching at Steve’s shoulders, and he must take Steve’s silence as a question because he says, “Second door on the left,” then sets his mouth on Steve’s neck, sucking hard.

He takes a step and almost stumbles with the way it rubs their hips together. Bucky whimpers though, so he grits his teeth, doesn’t move Bucky higher, and keeps walking, stepping over their discarded shirts as he does. They get halfway down the hallway when he needs to _do_ something, needs to let out some of the energy buzzing under his skin, and he twists, lets Bucky’s shoulders thump against the wall – not hard, but enough that Bucky’s head tilts back. His eyes are black when they meet Steve’s, cheeks flushed, and Steve has to kiss him. He does, gets right up into his space and Bucky moans around the tongue in his mouth, digs his heels into Steve’s ass.

It’s a few minutes before Bucky breaks the kiss to gasp in a breath, gets out, “Bed, now,” and Steve might be partial to having Bucky here, sugar sweet and at his mercy, but he wants _more_ so he squeezes where he’s got his hands still on Bucky’s ass and straightens.

He has to shift Bucky’s weight to one arm to open Bucky’s bedroom door, and Bucky makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, bites out, “God that’s _hot_ ,” before biting at Steve’s lip.

Steve grins, can’t help himself, cups the back of Bucky’s head and pulls him into a kiss as he kicks the door shut behind them. It’s only four steps to the bed, and he shifts up, kneels on it without breaking the kiss. Bucky grabs at his shoulders, clings as Steve knee-walks to the centre of the bed, and he presses Bucky into the mattress, keeping most of his weight on his knees. Bucky nips at his lip, pulls away, and his head tips back as he drags in breaths. Steve takes that as an invitation and presses his mouth to Bucky’s throat, kissing down.

Bucky’s skin is smooth under his lips like he shaved just before Steve arrived, and Steve smiles into his skin before sucking a mark high, over his pulse. Bucky arches up, Steve slides a hand under his back to keep him that way, nibbles at Bucky’s collarbone just to see what he’ll do.

One of Bucky’s hands ends up in his hair, holding tight and keeping Steve’s mouth where it is. Bucky groans softly, knees going tight on Steve’s hips. Steve grins against his skin, sucks another hickey into existence before nudging lower.

He takes his time, licking and sucking at every spot that takes his fancy, keeps Bucky coiled tight right until he’s nudging his nose against the waistband of Bucky’s pants, and Bucky snaps. He tugs at Steve’s hair, insistent, and when Steve looks up Bucky’s eyes are wild, hair fanning out around him. “Get your fucking cock in my mouth,” Bucky says, and Steve grins, sits up on his knees.

“I have a better idea,” Steve says, and Bucky’s jaw sets like he’s ready to fight for his right to suck Steve’s dick. _Christ_. “Grab me the lube,” he says, and when Bucky looks like he’s going to argue, cuts him off with a “Trust me, please?”

Bucky pops his jaw, still looks like he’s about to say something, but rocks up onto his side and goes digging in the drawer of one of the nightstands. He doesn’t throw the tube, like Steve half expects, just holds it out, and Steve rewards him by leaning over and kissing him hard. Then he busies himself with getting Bucky’s pants off, drags the material down to his ankles, then off his feet to land – somewhere, he doesn’t care.

Bucky plants one of his feet, arches his back, and his cock bobs against his stomach. He’s gorgeous, all of him, and Steve has to take a second to just _look_. Like he knows what’s going through Steve’s mind, Bucky just waits him out, slides his hand down his stomach until his thumb and forefinger frame the base of his cock, the dark thatch of hair there. He’s _exquisite_ , and Steve lets his eyes trail over his chest, following the sparse hair down to his treasure trail, half hidden by his hand. Steve leans down, can’t help himself, gets his teeth set on one toned thigh, bites, then sucks hard. Bucky groans above him, hips shifting, and Steve can’t wait any longer.

He flops onto his back, arches his hips up in order to get his pants off, and Bucky’s rocked up onto his side by the time Steve’s kicked his pants free. “Get up here,” he says, and is that his voice? Scratchy, deep, _demanding_? Bucky blinks, pushes up until he’s kneeling even though his eyes are still nailed to Steve’s cock, so Steve elaborates as he grabs a pillow to stuff under his head. “Sit on my face and you can do whatever you want with your mouth.”

There’s no other word for it, Bucky scrambles, body jerking into motion as he makes a noise that’s pure _want_. He swings his leg over Steve’s chest, and Steve grabs at his hips, pulls him back, squeezes his ass before parting his cheeks. “Fuck, you’re big,” Bucky groans, pushing back into Steve’s grip.

Warm fingers circle his cock, the sensation enough to make Steve’s breath shudder out of him, and he has to close his eyes for a second before he can do anything about the bounty that is Bucky’s naked body above him. He pulls Bucky the last few inches, takes a deep breath, and licks up over Bucky’s hole from his taint right up to his tailbone. Bucky shudders above him, licks up the length of his cock in return, and Steve has to push himself through the need to be in Bucky’s mouth. He grips a little tighter, takes another lick, shorter, then another, until he’s lapping at Bucky’s hole, sucking at the rim and teasing with his tongue.

He settles into it quickly, the rhythm of eating Bucky out, until he can ease his tongue into Bucky’s hole, wraps an arm around Bucky’s hip to stroke at the cock trapped between them. The noise Bucky makes sets fire to his blood, makes him want to devote everything to making him make that noise again, and again, and _again_. Bucky’s panting breathlessly against his cock, and Steve shifts his hips, moves a hand, works his tongue deeper as he presses his thumb on the rim. Bucky shoves his hips back into the touch, whines high in his throat, so Steve takes the hint and lets his thumb slip inside.

Bucky’s all wet, almost sloppy with spit, and he’s so _so_ hot. Steve groans, quiet, and Bucky chokes out a noise in return, pushing his mouth further and further down Steve’s cock until he can’t help but flex his hips, wants to fuck up into Bucky’s mouth.

He resists, just, and tugs his thumb at Bucky’s rim, sweeping his tongue in deeper. Bucky’s knees clamp around his chest, and Steve _needs_ to get in him. He pulls his thumb out despite the whine of protest, fumbles for the bottle of lube.

It takes a second to open it once he finds it, working at it one-handed, but he gets there, gets some on his fingers, clicks the cap closed as he moves his hand in and rubs his finger against Bucky’s hole. He sinks a finger in, and Bucky sucks at him harder, more insistent. That finger becomes two, three, until Steve has to pull his mouth back, leave kisses over the curve of Bucky’s ass as he inches his little finger in alongside the rest. Bucky’s head falls back, and his hips twitch like he can’t help the movement, then he’s grinding back slow and steady, fully distracted from his task.

Steve digs his teeth in, curls his fingers, and rumbles out, “Buck.”

Bucky whines. Steve pulls out his fingers, and Bucky whines louder, then the noise cuts off like he hadn’t meant to make it.

Steve wipes his hand on the sheets, gets his hands on Bucky’s ass, and lifts, dumping Bucky on his back next to him. He rolls to his side, gets up on his knees, and Bucky stares at him for a second, dazed. Steve waits him out, curls a hand around his wet cock, shivers as he strokes. “I want you,” he says, and Bucky’s eyes widen.

“Condoms in the drawer,” Bucky says like he’s kicking himself for not grabbing them earlier, and Steve stretches over them to grab one. Then he’s putting it on, shifting closer, and Bucky hooks a leg over Steve’s thigh, grabs at his shoulders to pull him closer.

Steve pauses, gets Bucky’s other leg up until he’s splayed out, almost in Steve’s lap, and slicks lube over himself before tossing the tube up closer to Bucky’s head. “You want it?” He asks, and Bucky tugs at his hair, once, sharp.

“Stop teasing and _fuck me_ ,” Bucky growls, and that’s as close to a yes as Steve thinks he’s going to get. He sits up straight so he can watch, see the way Bucky’s whole body tightens up as he rubs the head of his cock against Bucky’s hole. Then he’s nudging forward and Bucky’s letting him in, presses his hips up slowly as Bucky fists the sheets. Bucky’s mouth falls open, wordless, and Steve grips his waist, pulls him in closer as he gets the rest of the way in.

Bucky’s hot around him, silky and wet, and it makes Steve want to give up all control, thrust in and in until there’s no space between them, until he’s permanently a part of Bucky. He holds that back, just, and tips forward, catches himself on his hands as his hips meet Bucky’s.

“God,” Bucky bites out, eyes wide, flush crawling over his cheeks. “ _God_ , you’re- _god_ ,” and Steve smiles, realises he must look near-feral as he drops down for a kiss.

When Bucky strokes his hands down Steve’s back Steve reaches between them, cups Bucky’s cock and strokes his thumb up it. Bucky’s hips twitch up, and they both groan at the feeling. Then Bucky’s doing it again, and again, until Steve lets go of his cock, pins him with one hand at his hip and draws back to thrust in properly.

He tries to start slow, he does, but the way Bucky’s clenching up around him has him fucking in hard, the way Bucky’s back arches and the noises he’s making has him pushing in again, and again, wanting to give Bucky everything. “Bucky,” he says, like a prayer between them, and it’s not long before Bucky’s breathing starts to hitch with every thrust, until he’s pressing up and kissing Steve with more tongue then finesse. He’s rocking into Steve’s thrusts, sharp and unsteady, and his hand slides between them to curl around his cock, stroke it fast.

Bucky arches up, tense, muscles shaking, and Steve kisses him again, breathes into his mouth, fucks in until Bucky’s sobbing against him, coming wet between them. Steve can’t help the groan as Bucky tightens up around him, slows his thrusts as Bucky shakes apart. He strokes his thumb up over Bucky’s cheek, kisses his slack mouth, keeps himself steady until Bucky says, “Steve.”

He still looks dazed, unsteady, but he rocks his hips, clenches around Steve, and Steve can’t help the instinctive way his hips jerk in. The orgasm hits him out of nowhere, roaring through his body. His world topples apart, but Bucky’s steady as a rock in the storm of it, pulling him down and kissing him, stroking a hand through Steve’s hair, over his cheek.

He comes back to himself slowly, kisses along Bucky’s jaw until Bucky flexes his hips, makes a quiet noise of surprise. Steve keeps himself braced on his forearm, takes stock of himself, realises that he’s still hard, which – it’s normal for him, really, with the serum. But he hadn’t mentioned it, so he pulls back to look at Bucky, finds surprise and lust mingling together.

“You,” Bucky says, voice scratched to shit, hoarse. Steve licks his lips, muscles still quaking a little, and nods. Bucky looks like he’s thinking for a second, then flops his arms out to his sides, and says, “Fuck my mouth.”

Steve’s about to protest when Bucky cuts him off, voice inching closer to a plea when he says, “I want you to come in my mouth.”

Steve can’t deny him a thing.

He straightens up, pulls his hips back, and strokes a soothing hand over Bucky’s thighs as Bucky twitches, grumbles at being left empty. He strips off the condom, ties it with unsteady fingers, all too aware of the weight of Bucky’s gaze on him. Bucky waves to the side of the bed and Steve peers over, drops the condom and the discarded wrapper in the small trashcan there before looking back at Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t say a word, just opens his mouth wide, and Steve swears in a voice that’s shakier than it probably should be. He shifts up, slow, planting his knees carefully, then he’s looking down at Bucky’s face. Bucky licks his lips, swallows, and Steve can’t help but thread his fingers into Bucky’s hair, brushing the curling strands off his face. He grips the base of his cock with his free hand, shifts his hips, and Bucky tilts his head up to meet him as Steve feeds him his cock.

Bucky moans around his length and the vibrations have Steve almost shaking, clutching at the headboard before he realises what he’s doing and forces himself to let go. Bucky’s eyes are hooded, eyelids low, and he’s straining up to get more when Steve doesn’t go any further, the tip resting against the inside of Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky’s hands land on his ass, squeezing, and that jolts Steve into motion with a sharp thrust, a cut-off groan escaping. That’s followed by another, and another thrust, a little smoother this time until he’s pushing in deep, until Bucky’s almost gagging on it, eyes begging for _more_ and _more_ until Steve can’t give anything else. His head falls back, unthinking, and his hips jerk at the firm suction Bucky’s giving him, at the flick of Bucky’s tongue whenever his hips pull back, the squeeze of Bucky’s hands on his skin.

It’s only a few more thrusts with how worked up he is, then he’s pulling back a little, spilling over Bucky’s tongue as Bucky moans. His cock slips free, jerks, and a strip of white covers Bucky’s lower lip as Bucky makes a show of swallowing everything Steve’s given him. Before Bucky can lick his own mouth clean, Steve shoves his hips back, needing to taste, flicks his tongue over that splash of white before fucking his tongue deep into Bucky’s mouth, kissing him hard.

He pulls back, breathing heavy from the kiss and the orgasm, laughs a little, giddy, against Bucky’s cheek. “You,” he says, barely more than a whisper and Bucky’s hands grip at his hips. “You’re something else.”

Bucky grins, pleased, then pulls Steve down to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](https://spacebuck.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacebck), though i'm most active on twitter!


End file.
